Possessed hearts - стр. 22
A black silk dressing gown. Open. Underneath it, there is a red silk lingerie.
– When are you going to invite me to your place? I'm tired of being just a listener.
– If I want to sleep with you, I'll let you know. But I'm afraid that will never happen. You're not my type, boy," I said tiredly. – Now get out and leave me alone, or I'll get angry.
How annoying he is, that idiot. Every time I walk past him, he licks himself like a narcissistic, petted cat.
– Leave you alone? – he smiled wryly. – Maria, you know you want it yourself. And I'm always at your disposal.
– Yes, yes, I know. Is that it? Good night, Troy.
– Good night, tiger.
"Bitch," he muttered, not knowing I could hear him.
– 'I'm, '" I said with a wry smile.
His face grew serious for a moment, but then, sure that I had commented on his 'tigress' comment, he winked at me and walked away, slamming the door to the balcony loudly behind him.
"We need to move out of this crazy house. Everything would be fine if it weren't for the neighbours… Maybe I should buy a house, somewhere in the provinces? But not too far from Toronto… Damn, those nasty people are everywhere. Where can I hide from them?" – I thought wistfully as I sipped my glass of blood.
***
People. They're everywhere. Standing there with their mouths open, staring at us. That day.
– I'm sorry, Mrs. Mroczek. I'm terribly late.
I turn my head to the right.
He's looking at me.
Brandon Grayson.
"I hate you so much!" – flashes through my head.
He smiles charmingly, and then his attention is completely consumed by the wedding process.
And I stand there, barely concealing a small shiver of disgust and hatred. Feeling like I've been dunked in a tub of shit and forced to be here, in this damn church, to be a scoffer. I see nothing, hear nothing and feel nothing. I just want to get the hell out of here. To run out of the church screaming in disgust. Screaming how much I hate that son of a bitch. Scream loud enough to drown out the murmurings of the world. But I humbly remain in my seat until the end of the wedding ceremony. I am weak. No, I'm just not there anymore. I'm gone.
***
– I really like this shot, but that tourist ruined everything that could be ruined. – I sighed irritably, showing my model the ruined shot.
A bloody stranger in a bright yellow jacket had unexpectedly and unexpectedly appeared in the frame at the very moment I pressed the button. And now, behind the beautiful Aisa, his bloody jacket was a distinct ugly yellow stain. But, noticing that his presence was clearly spoiling our photo shoot, the hapless tourist hurried away.
– I'm sorry, but you'll have to take another pose in the same spot. – I looked at the girl. – I'm sorry, I know you're cold, but this is very important.
Aisa. Nineteen-year-old Icelandic girl. Beautiful and tall. Exactly the kind of nurse I'd dreamed of shooting since I first saw her in the café of her small hometown. I immediately met her, took her details and, with her permission, took a couple of shots of her beautiful white face. Her white hair, eyebrows and eyelashes are completely white as snow. But white in a different way than albinos. Her beauty is the very embodiment of the North, its beauty and power. This is exactly how I think the inimitable Scandinavian goddess of beauty Freya, who was reborn in the guise of the magical young Aisa, should look like. Today I shot her against the backdrop of a sullen ocean shore full of large sharp stones. Dark blue, almost black waves crashed into those rocks and crashed in an icy rain behind my modern-day Freya. Twilight. The girl is wearing a translucent black dress that almost blends in with the surrounding gloomy dark beauty of this place. Her snow-white skin barely pokes through from beneath the fabric of the dress, and her hair seems to be frozen in mid-air, obeying the wind. Aisa embodies a lonely ghost, an ancient spirit, a Freyja who has descended to earth in search of peace.